


Matters of a School

by MissTantabis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Slice of Life, dark childermass, dark!childermass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: When Childermass learns that Mr. Segundus had founded a school for magicians, he knows he has to deal with it. And he is not looking forward to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bryonyashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/gifts).



> This story is a sequel to The Touch of Shadows.

It was the late afternoon. The sun was hidden behind clouds and thus a hazy twilight laid over the city. It darkened the rooms and send rays of brown light over the walls. The shadows grew more and laid as thick, heavy clouds on everyone’s minds. It required the houses to light the cabin’s fire, even if it was just to have a soft glow. It made Childermass enlighten the candles, that hung in the chandeliers and stood on shelves to dozens in Hannover Square.

The library felt surprisingly empty without Norrell being present. A candle stood on the table. Its flame danced in the air and the melted wax softly dropped onto its stand. The orange glow caressed a silver bowl, filled with water. It was the dish that Mr. Norrell used to cast several spells, most notably a spell that allowed him to see what was going on in other places or even view specific people.

Right now however it was not Mr. Norrell, who leaned over the bowl and watched with concentrated eyes the happenings in the water. It was John Childermass. The ragged dressed, dark haired man of business was leaning over the dish. His hands were softly positioned on its edge. Black curls danced over his nose and the eyes flashed in anger between them.

In the clear water Childermass beheld a scene that should not have been. Before an imposing, rustic maison stood two men, talking with each other. One of them was small, elderly with very little hair and a warm, content face, cheerful and pleased like Santa Claus during Christmas. The other one was a bit taller, much younger, had brown hair and a handsome face. Curiosity brightened his face and excitement marked every of his moves.

_ I told you to lay of your search for magic. _ Childermass narrowed his eyes in anger. Mr. Segundus had not signed the contract and thus he theoretically had the right to still call himself a magician. However Childermass knew his master. Norrell did not tolerate any other magician s beside himself and most certainly not a school for a magician.

Sure, one could argue that Norrell’s attitude had changed now that he had Jonathan Strange as an apprentice. However Childermass knew that the only reason the smaller magician had accepted Strange was the fact that the young man had clearly impressed him. And Childermass had to admit: He too was impressed. Jonathan had created a spell out of nothing. This proved of a connection with the magic of the Raven King Norrell could only dream off. And even if this display of magic had not been enough, Childermass would have persuaded Norrell into taking Strange in eventually.

He was very good at pushing Norrell to deeds he knew his master could do, but did not dare otherwise. Childermass was indeed Norrell’s backbone. Not just because he was his darkness, but because he knew Norrell’s powers and potential better then his master himself. It had been Childermass, that had brought Norrell to London. It was Childermass, who knew what steps must be done to ensure that Norrell’s task, the return of English magic, became a full success.

However during all this Childermass knew one of Norrell’s greatest flaws. His self-centred attitude. He wanted to be gold and the only authority of magic in England. This had been the reason Childermass had dissolved the Yorkshire Society of Magicians on Norrell’s behalf. This had been the reason he had murdered the chief of said society. To leave a bloody mark across the land and warn all people to not even try it,who hoped to be future magicians.

However he had left Segundus in peace. In exchange for telling the young man his secret. The tale of what he was. Childermass was fond of Mr. Segundus. The young man was smart, quick witted and despite his slender and fragile frame full of courage. He had a moral code and stuck to his believes. When he had explained that he would not sign Mr. Norrell’s contract, Childermass had realised that John Segundus had the potential to become a great and talented magician in his own right. Maybe Mr. Segundus was not even aware of that himself.

It had been this reason that Childermass had let Mr. Segundus get away. Not only with not signing the agreement, but also with the fact that he had witnessed Childermass’ murder upon his Society’s chief. When he could have disposed of him too easily. He could have just killed him here and there where he stood in that dark alley, where Segundus had learned of his dark secret.

Childermass had trusted Segundus that he would not do something stupid. And now he had decided to found a school for magicians. Out of all the things he could have done! Childermass angrily whipped over the water in the bowl with his hand and watched the image of the younger magician disappear and drown in the clear, shivering surface. He would have to do something about this bad notion. And he was not looking forward to do it.

o0o

Spring had come into London. The sun shone and the trees were in full blossom. Fresh green leaves. The citizens walked over the sidewalks, wearing light, fair coloured dresses and cloaks. Horses snorted and the carriage wheels crunched as they made their way over the cobblestoned street. War with Napoleon and his army seemed very far away for London. It did not touch the common citizens. Except maybe in the form of letters the soldiers got from their wives and send to them. And they were the only ones concerned.

In this street John Childermass leaned against an iron fence. He was wearing his long, dark travelling clothes and the cylinder on his ragged hair. The gloves were safely stored in his pockets. Childermass showed bare skin on his hands and this meant one thing: He had no murderous intention right now. However his deed was not honourable nonetheless.

Mr. Norrell’s man of business was watching the house owned by Arabella Strange and her husband Jonathan Strange. He was smoking his pipe, watching the mist float before his face, its sharp, dry smell tickling his nose and its flavour rasping in his throat. Childermass did not move as he waited for what had to happen to do why he had come here.

The door opened. Arabella Strange, wearing a red dress, a pale brown scarf and a small hat, came out. Childermass hardly moved, however his eyes followed her as she walked down the street. Past her run a small boy with a large, leather bag. Childermass’ eyes lit up like glowing cowl. Finally. What he had been waiting for occurred.

The boy was the paper boy. He halted by the house of Mrs. Strange and took the letters the house maid gave him. When he wanted to continue his walk, Childermass pushed himself off the wall. The man of business let out a sharp whistling sound. The paper boy halted and watched the dark, intimidating Yorkshireman cross the street and stop before him.

“So?”, asked Childermass and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a bundle of notes: an entire pound. Much money for a simple paper boy. “Is there something you can give me?” “Of course, Mr. Childermass.” Looking around anxiously, the boy gave the dark haired man a bunch of letters. Childermass checked the bundle, turning it in his hands. “Notes for Norrell and from Mrs Strange?”, he asked. “Yes”, the paper boy said, before he stored his money away and hurried down the street.

o0o

The door opened. Mr. Norrell’s drawing room was not even a drawing room, but rather the library. Still it was also Norrell’s reception room. There were not as many shelves as in the library in Hurtfew. Only two or three, standing at the walls. Two tables. One small, bulky working table, where Mr. Norrell sat now, and a smaller, round table for guests or if he worked with more people. Which was rare.

Right now only two more men sat at said table. One of them was a slender figure with a haggard face and red hair, wearing a green jacket. The second one was a small, dark haired man with beautiful, large eyes and pretty ciliaries. He was wearing a deep red coat and talked partly with the other man and Mr. Norrell.

Childermass made the door shut behind him. He frowned.  _ You two are here again. _ The Yorkshireman disliked Drawlight and Lascelles. His guts told him that they meant trouble.  _ “Lay off the kills, Childermass.” _ He now regretted  yet again that Norrell had forbidden him to do things his way. Childermass would have loved to stab both men dead. But he sadly could not. So all that was left to do was to stay alert all times and make sure Norrell did not walk into a trap by accident. A trap, coated in honey.

Childermass crossed the room and stopped by the table. Mr. Norrell was reading a book, not partaking in the conversation between Lascelles and Drawlight. “There.” Rather unceremoniously Childermass dropped the letters before Mr. Norrell. At once his master stopped reading. He closed the book and took the letters. Once he had found the letter by Arabella for Jonathan, he cracked open the seal and began to read.

Childermass sighed. He picked up one of Norrell’s books.  _ I do not like this business. _ It made him uncomfortable and also very concerned. Why was his master so keen on getting these letters? It was not that he and Strange were on opposite sides or enemies. So what did Norrell hope to gain from reading the letters wife and husband sent to each other?

The Yorkshireman flipped the book open. He knew that one once he read the first few lines. Belasis. He was one of the most well-known magicians and Norrell mostly agreed with him. However he disliked the writing style. Childermass found it was a rather easy book to read, which was comfortable.

After reading a few paragraphs, Childermass put the book down. He sorted the still sealed letters. Offering Norrell a hand, he asked: “May I?” His master leaned back, letter still in hands and gazed upwards, face a frown. The Yorkshireman huffed. “Well, if you do not need me to catch off letters meant for other folk”, he stated, “I will be off to see a man about a school.”

o0o

The horses’ hooves crunched over the dirty path four days later. It was a large, ugly, black stallion as threatening looking as its rider. Childermass softly balanced himself in the saddle. He was a very good rider due to the fact that on Norrell’s behalf he often travelled long and windy roads to find very rare books. Apart from that, the Yorkshireman simply was very fond of Brewer and enjoyed a ride on his wide, comfortable back.

Right now Childermass’ aim came in sight. The maison from the image in the bowl. It was a square building, handsome and old. The walls were covered in ivy, between which the stones shone pale and grey like petrified moonlight. The windows were dark and large. They let the light in the halls and rooms. The roof was covered in greyish brown, dusty tiles. Before the archway, which marked the entrance, stood Segundus and Honeyfoot.

Segundus’ eyes darkened once he spotted the rider. Worry painted itself over his face. “Childermass”, he muttered with suppressed anger and mistrust. “You cannot do this, Sirs”, Childermass explained as he and Brewer slowly approached Starcross Hall and stopped by the gate, “You must give up this notion.”

Segundus and Honeyfoot approached the gate. They looked shocked for a brief moment, before anger came in their faces, especially at Childermass’ next words: “He will get to know sooner or later. And then it is better if you finish this business, before he does.” Segundus defended himself sharply: “I did not sign that agreement!”

Brewer chewed on the bit, nodding his head up and down. Childermass softly tugged on the reigns. “Do you honestly believe that matters?”, he lectured Segundus over his stupidity, “Should not my way of doing things have taught you that Norrell does not regard etiquette very high?” The shadows on his skin darkened and for a brief moment Segundus’ face showed all the anxiety, temptation and curiosity that had been between them both. Childermass hide his smile as he lowered his head. Yes, Segundus did remember their encounter all too well.

“You must choose another kind of business”, explained the Yorkshireman harshly, “Not a school for magicians.” Childermass gazed at Starcross Hall with some sort of disdain. He explained: “I heard that house is for sale. The next time I hear that a Lord or a Lady has need of such a place, I will send them your way.” There was a dark, grim smirk on his face. His threat was clearly made and Childermass had the connections and confidence to execute it.

Giving the reigns a slightly sharper pull, he turned the horse. Segundus walked towards him. “I do not want another kind of business!”, he responded furiously. Childermass looked back, resting his black eyes upon the youthful face, so alive in his anger. “I will be seeing you”, he mused. Segundus shouted in rage: “This is tyranny, Sir!  _ This is tyranny! _ ” Mr. Honeyfoot too found his voice back and called: “Mr. Norrell will pay for how he handles these issues.” 

Childermass had not gotten very far. Hasty footsteps could be heard. “Mr. Childermass, wait!” Segundus hurried down the path. He stopped and grabbed into the horse’s reigns. Brewer threw his head upwards, snorted and shied in shock. “Woah”, Childermass called. He softly patted the dark stallion’s back and whispered: “Easy there, boy. Easy.” The dark, ugly stallion calmed down slowly. He snorted again and turned his ears inwards to hear his master’s soft murmur.

Childermass turned his head to look down upon John Segundus, who kept a hold of the reigns and prevented them from leaving. He merely rose a brow, knowing the other one would now say something. And indeed John’s plea was not a long time coming.

“Please, Mr. Childermass”, Segundus begged, “I do not understand what the problem is. Mr. Norrell has a pupil now as well. All I desire is to share my knowledge on magic and my passion for it. All I want is give people a place where they can study and learn to do the deeds from old times. I promise, I have no intention in telling anyone your secret if that is what you fear. I do not understand what harm my school could do. Would it not grant everyone a fair chance?”

Childermass barely turned his head. His eyes rolled in the direction Segundus had come from. Mr. Honeyfoot was still standing by the gate, probably wondering what his friend was up too. However he stood so far away that it was very unlikely he could see or hear anything clearly. Besides he was an old man and thus his senses had suffered anyway.

Mr. Norrell’s man of business leaped forwards and seized Mr. Segundus by his collar. Lifting the other man up so he stood on his toes, Childermass bent down, until his face was only a few inches away from Segundus’. The shadows on his face darkened and more leaked out of his eyes. Some seemed to wander over the other John’s cheek.

Childermass’ murmuring, raspy voice became a threatening and darker tone: “Mr. Segundus, I am very fond of you. And this is the reason I was very generous with my threat. However maybe I should remind you that this could end way darker if you keep pushing it: With a knife in your ribs and the books on fire!”

Segundus gulped. There was fear in his eyes, but also this weird admiration and care. “You would not dare this”, he whispered, “Not before Mr. Honeyfoot. This would break his heart.” Throwing a look back at the elder man, Childermass bared his teeth in a snarl: “Oh, I would. And trust me, we do not want poor, old Honeyfoot to discover my secret, do we? You would make a poor friend for him indeed.”

He bent close again, his breath gracing Segundus’ ear, sending the blood into his cheeks. “Now listen closely, Mr. Segundus”, whispered Childermass, “For this is what you will do: You will either sell the books you bought to Mr. Norrell or Mr. Strange, or lock them away. You won’t found a school for magician or make any such notion while my master is still here. You may keep the house, however you won’t have any profession, unless I give you one. You won’t tell Mr. Honeyfoot any of my threats or my secret. And tomorrow morning you will come to the local pub in York where your Society used to held their gatherings. There you will report to me that you did what I asked. You have twenty-four hours.”

Childermass let go of Segundus’ collar. The younger man stumbled back, rubbing his throat and neck anxiously. His warm, brown eyes glittered in worry as they followed the shady man, who pushed his legs into his horse’s flank and rode away.

o0o

The pub felt oddly empty without the marks of the York Society of Magicians in it. There was no golden and red banner. The walls were bare and naked without the shelves, which had contained a pitiful amount of books. Tables and chairs were pulled in a corner. Dust settled upon them. A spider spun its net on the wall. It was clear the place had not been used in many months.

The clock on the wall showed ten am. The sun shone through a milky window. It did not lightened the atmosphere, for the place still held its pitiful sight. In fact the wavering ray of sunshine seemed to mock the room even further.

John Childermass was sitting at the only table that was still used. He had leaned himself back, his feet on the wooden edge, legs crossed. His one arm laid on his stomach. The other one lazily nestled upon the table’s surface. Childermass was smoking. His pipe’s white mist wavered around his face, forming figures as restless as the sands of time.

The door opened. Childermass blinked and spotted Mr. Segundus coming into the room. He sighed and released another gust of smoke. “You took your time”, John murmured. The younger magician sighed. He looked defeated and weak. And tired.

Segundus crossed the room and stopped before the chair. Looking at Childermass, he explained with a weak gesture: “I did what you asked of me. The books are all locked in a box and we hide the key in an almost unreachable place. I won’t make a school for magicians.” He dropped his head and looked away. His voice was bitter when he added: “I hope, Mr. Norrell is happy now.”

Childermass rose. He kept holding his pipe, its glow slowly dieing down. Looking at Mr. Segundus, Norrell’s man of business grumbled: “I do hope the problem is solved now. For I rather wish not to revisit it.” He strolled past Mr. Segundus towards the door.

Then however Childermass stopped in his tracks. By the door he turned around to look at Mr. Segundus. The younger man looked depressed and offended. He never got very angry or rather he was polite enough to never voice his anger. Still, Childermass could see John was deeply hurt by the dark Yorkshireman’s action.

The sight moved Childermass deeply. He looked down, before he rose his head with a sigh. “Mr. Segundus”, Childermass said, “I am going to be frank with you, Sir. I dislike these actions as much as you do. For I could see no better teacher for a school of magic then you, John Segundus. I want you to know that.”

His words caused Segundus to smile and laugh weakly. “Thanks, Childermass.” He crossed the room yet again. Childermass was surprised when the younger man hugged him. “That means a lot to me.” For a brief moment both man stood there, Segundus’ arms around Childermass’ waist. When he realized what he did, the man let go and stepped back, face as red as common poppy.

“Ehm”, he stammered, ordering his clothes, “We are still friends, right?” Childermass smiled one of his wry smiles. His eyes squinted and he took Segundus’ hand in a firm, yet gentle grip. “Aye”, the Yorkshireman said. Patting John’s shoulder, Childermass stepped back, placed his cylinder on and moved out of the pub towards his horse. Soon Brewer’s hoof-steps became fainter and fainter as the man left Yorkshire.


End file.
